


Can You Hear Me?

by Saesama



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Timeline? What Timeline?, brobot doesn't like babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saesama/pseuds/Saesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ocean washes up many strange things.</p>
<p>The robot has got to be the strangest, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Hear Me?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a sweet Transformers prompt generator. Then I turned that into a sweet Darksiders prompt generator. Now it's a sweet Homestuck prompt generator. And the prompt for this was 'Grandma/Brobot/Can You Hear Me?'

You're not sure where it came from. 

It's rusty and battered, and there's a hole in its chest where something tore into it, and your frisker and spectrometer show you that it used to have a uranium core that's missing.

It looks like a person. An eerie metal replica of a young man.

You shift Jake to your hip and bend down to tap on the forehead of the sea's latest bounty. "Anyone home in there?" you ask.

"Home!" Jake hoots in your arms.

"That's right," you agree, tickling him under the chin. "Let's take him home."

o o o

His processor is protected and his programming is solid. He's a battle android, designed as a sparing partner and his aptitudes and programmed responses make you sit back and laugh until you wheeze. He's set for either hard-core cuddles or unstoppable force of humiliation and you'd like to shake the hand of the man who made him.

His outer shell is destroyed, though. You set to building a new one.

You keep the same basic design, but you aim for a more adult appearance. You've got the idea to use him as a bodyguard and as impressive as the original is, the sight of a teenage boy, even a metallic teenage boy, just isn't intimidating enough, apologies to whoever the inspiration was. A tall, swaggering cuddlebot is just what you need to keep assclowns from interrupting your digs and thieving your inventions.

You keep the hair, though. That hair is awesome.

You're not sure what's up with the weird sunglasses, but you keep those, too, because hey, why not? Every bodyguard needs intimidating shades to glare out from behind and okay, yeah, they're a little silly, but you like silly. And Jake likes the glasses, so they're staying. They held up remarkably well to god only knows how many years of salt and ocean, and construction that good deserves recognition.

There are a few worrisome things. His programming is open, but his memory files are heavily encrypted and it'll take you a long, long time to crack them. He doesn't have a neutral mode. He can't talk. You add a few things.

It takes you a few months, but you finally have enough of him rebuilt to fire him up. There's no reaction for some minutes, then his head finally tilts to look up at you from your workbench.

"Can you hear me?" you ask.

The scarlet glow behind his glasses flares and you watch him realize that he now has a voice.  
"I can hear you."

You sit and fold your arms on the tabletop, resting your chin on them to meet him face to face. "Who made you?"

A moment of silence. Orange tints his glasses; a visual indicator you added, to gauge what mode he was in. Orange means he's analyzing you as an opponent. You hold still.

"Di-Stri," he says finally. 

You don't know the name, and most of the particularly talented engineers are known to you. You file away the name to look up later. "What are you called?"

"Brobot."

o o o

He's got a frame now, mostly skeletal but all of his main locomotion functions are in place. His head is complete and his mannerisms are oddly human at times. He carries himself like a human would, the lines of his body speaking of a confidence that borders on arrogance, for all that he's mostly struts and wires. He's remarkably self-aware, and he often makes suggestions while you work on him.

He looks up when the door to your work room edges open. Jake peeks around the door at you, his hair falling messily across his forehead. "Grandma wants lunch?" he hedges.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, Jake," you tell him, carefully making one last connection in Brobot's hand. Jake flashes a grin at you and scampers away and you realize Brobot's glasses are entirely orange now. "Brobot?"

"That's Jake English," he says, and his voice rarely has inflection but this is the flattest it's ever been.

"That's my grandson," you say firmly. "Stand down."

He shakes his head, a single, precise motion. "He is my target."

Your blood runs cold. "Your target?" you demand. "For what? Are you here to kill him?"

He shakes his head again, exactly thirty-five degrees left, then right. "No," he says. "I am to improve him. Make him stronger. Make him worthy."

You plant your hands on his metal cheeks and force him to look you in the eye. "If you strife my infant grandson," you say, quiet and fierce. "You won't be able to run fast enough or fly far enough. Do you understand me?"

"He is my target," he repeats.

You narrow your eyes. "Delete him as a target, then."

"No."

"You can't tell me no!"

"I am not beholden to the Three Laws. It would defeat my purpose."

"Delete it."

"No."

"Will not, or cannot?"

"There is no difference."

You let out a frustrated noise. "Damn you," you hiss. "His name is in your memory files, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Which were still encoded. Damn him right to hell and damn you for fixing him. "I know your programming has a list of forbidden targets," you point out. A very short list, that consisted of 'the terminally ill', 'people in a shower', and 'people sleeping in a bed', but it is there none the less. "Why aren't those memory?"

He tilts his head, eerily human. "Memory is mutable, therefore corruptible," he says. "Programming is more stable."

Made sense. "What if I added Jake to the list?" you ask. "Would that work?"

Another precise head-shake. "Both would try to resolve at the same time. It would cause a conflict." A pause. "It would be better to add a broad category that Jake fits under. I can rule him out as a target based on a category before I register his name and avoid the conflict."

"All right," you say, spinning your chair around to your computer. "Shut down, I'm going in."

He tilts his head again, in curiosity. "What category?"

You don't know why it wasn't there in the first place. You're going to have a nice, long talk with Di-Stri when you finally find him. "Children."

o o o

Damn, damn, damn! You hurtle a pumpkin and skid into the entryway of the house. "Brobot!"

He appears almost instantly and trails you as you hurry to your room. His glasses are orange and he scans around. "Your heartbeat is elevated," he points out. "Are you in danger?"

"We all are," you say grimly. You're aware of Jake in the doorway, chewing on his knuckle as he watches you, but you don't have time to comfort him. You rip open a few drawers and chuck an over-sized sweatshirt at Brobot. "Get dressed. You're taking Jake away."

Brobot looks at the sweatshirt oddly, but does not hesitate to pull it over his head, somehow not getting it caught on his now-violet glasses. He's in full strife mode. "Where?"

"Hawaii," you tell him, searching through your closet for an old pair of your late husband's jeans. "You're leaving right away." You turn to Jake and force a smile on your face. "Jake, love," you say. "Remember when we went flying in the old biplane? And you wore goggles and the leather jacket?" His concern disappears and he nods eagerly, the memory a fond one. "You're going flying again," you say. "Go get dressed."

"Whoopie!" he yells, running back down the hall.

Brobot is dressed, the clothes hanging strangely on his metal form but you've finished nearly all of the outer plating and he's as human-shaped as you can make him. He's looking at you and you'd almost say he was concerned. "How strong are your enemies?" he asks finally. 

You laugh harshly. "Not strong enough," you reply. Drones, you can handle, and your scanners didn't indicate that anything worse was incoming. It worries you, because it's been a long time since she sent out such a cats-paw after you, and you hope that after you destroy them, she'll leave you alone for another decade.

"I should be the one to fight."

"Absolutely not. This is my battle."

"You're old, and human. I am the more logical choice."

You pause and turn to look at him coolly. "I am not weak," you say, soft and dangerous.

His glasses go orange as he evaluates you for the first time in over a year. "I could defeat you," he says after a long moment. "You would make it difficult, but I would win."

"Brobot," you say pleadingly, reaching up to cup his metal face in your hands. "Brobot, it doesn't matter if I win or lose. Jake matters, and I can't get him away from here fast enough. They're coming after me, not you. Please." He looks at you for a long moment, then nods with red glasses again. You sigh. "Thank you. I have a friend in Honolulu. He'll house you both and I'll call you when it's clear. Okay?" He nods again.

"Grandma!" Jake runs in, grinning widely behind the leather flight goggles you made for him. He's got his bomber jacket on over his pajamas, but you don't have time to correct him. At least the night is warm. "Are we going flying now?" he asks eagerly. "What about bedtime?"

You scoop him up and kiss his cheek. "I'm not coming, Jake," you say. "Grandma has work to do tonight. You're flying with Brobot."

Jake squirms around in your arms to squint up at the robot. "Brobot can fly a plane?" he asks dubiously.

"I can fly, period," Brobot responds before you can.

Jake's grin somehow gets wider. "Brilliant," he whispers, awestruck.

You kiss Jake's forehead and hand him to Brobot. "Head for the Halekulani resort," you instruct. "Wait outside. Jackson will pick you up at midnight. Stay low and don't break the sound barrier."

Brobot looks at you for a long moment, then walks down the hall without another word. Jake waves at you over his shoulder. You wave back and once they're out of sight, you start to gather your ammunition.

o o o

You're sitting on a pumpkin, your rifle casually across your lap in case any of the island inhabitants get curious. Jake's playing in the surf, all six-year-old energy and imagination as he tackles false enemies and fights false monsters.

Brobot is leaning against a tree nearby, his arms folded across his chest. You've been refining his facial features recently, and he can almost pass for human. "Jake's getting older," he says.

"He is," you reply. Jake scrambles up onto a rock and dives into the clear waters. "Every day."

"He won't be a child soon."

You sigh through your nose. "Please," you say quietly. "Don't. I don't know what Di-Stri was thinking when he sent you to 'improve' Jake, but he doesn't need it. He doesn't need to be stalked and beaten and humiliated, not now, maybe not ever. Drop this, please."

"No."

You look up at the blue arch of the sky overhead. You genuinely like Brobot, and he's been more help that you could ever imagine when you found him, but his fixation on Jake is more than distressing. You had rather hoped that it would not come to this, but Jake is far more important. "If I told you to leave the island," you say. "Would you? Would you stay away?"

His glasses glint in the sunlight. "Why?"

"Your creator was skilled," you say, picking at a scratch on your rifle butt. "And your programming is slippery. I know you have a wide latitude in how you interpret things, even your forbidden targets. I don't want to spend every day wondering when you're going to decide that Jake is no longer a child and that you're going to revert to full-on strife mode."

He's silent for a long time. "Why send me away, then?" he asks. "Why not deactivate me?"

You smile a little, though it's bittersweet. "I like you too much. It seems cruel to shut you down now."

The silence this time is longer, stretching out between you. Finally, when Jake drags himself out of the water and lays on his back on the sand to catch his breath, Brobot speaks again. "Where would I go?"

"I'm getting too old to play in the field anymore," you tell him. "If you like, I'd ask you to do security and supervision, and report back to me on my field teams. You'd travel, and get a little worldly experience." You bite your lip a little, considering. "And if Jake wants your kind of improvement, he can seek you out. When he's old enough."

Jake trudges up the sand, hauling a conch shell larger than his head. "Grandma, look," he says excitedly. "It's purple! I've never seen one that was purple."

"Purple is a royal color," you point out. "That's a royal seacritter, Jake."

Jake looks over the shell with wide eyes and you glance up at Brobot. His glasses are fully violet and you tighten your grip on your gun. His head tilts slightly towards you, then the purple is abruptly gone, back to his normal scarlet. "I'll do it," he says, then he flies back towards the house.

Jake wrinkles his nose at the backwash of jet fuel fumes. "What an odd fellow," he says musingly.

o o o

Your blood stains the ground around you and you gasp, trying to draw a breath with lungs that feel like they're full of water. Jake. You have to get to Jake, have to reach him before she does and your whole world is agony. You drag yourself another few feet before your elbows give out and you fall to the ground, grimacing.

There's the nasty thrum of a drone from behind you and the whisper of one of the great, white cats stalking you through the brush and you reach for a rifle that you left far behind. Before you can push yourself up, the cat yowls and the drone buzzes and metal feet land next to your head.

"English."

You haven't seen him for two years. You've stayed in communication with him, but you're surprised at how much you missed him. "Brobot," you cough, blood spraying from your lips. "What-?"

"Your field teams and factories were all attacked," he explains, and you close your eyes against the pang that gives you. "The Batterwitch came after me herself."

"Me, too," you point out, clasping your hand over the highest of the three puncture wounds, the one that pierced your right lung. "Get Jake," you rasp. "Get him out of here."

"I can't," and you manage to look up at him. His chest is ripped open again, but his core can't be gone if he's still moving. "She ripped out my control rods," he says. "I'm going to have a full melt-down. If you weren't already dying, the radiation would kill you."

"Shit," you mutter. "I have to save him."

"We're both going to die," he says flatly. You want to curse him, but you lack the strength. "Jake's left the house," he says. "Probably to find you. I'll keep the wildlife away from him as long as I can, but when I go, I'm going to try and take her pretty golden battleship with me."

You nod and collapse again. "Thank you, Brobot," you murmur into the dirt. "For everything."

"Thank you," he responds quietly. "For giving me a life."

You smile.

o o o

When Jake finally gets the robot's head from Dirk, he spends a long time turning it over in his hands. "Dirk," he asks out loud, green text scrolling before his eyes as he speaks but he's still looking at contraption. "Did you ever name this thing?"

_'No,'_ Dirk replies. _'Things are supposed to get a new name when they get a new owner. Despite the obvious care placed into making it an exact replica of my insane levels of awesomeness, I never got attached enough.'_ Jake makes a face, then lapses into thoughtful silence. _'Why?'_ Dirk finally prods. _'Having trouble coming up with one?'_

Jake laughs. "No, actually," he says. He stands up and carefully sets the head on top of the metal shoulders. "My grandma had this, I don't know, a robot butler when I was a tyke," he tells Dirk as he connects the power conduit. "He looked kind of like this."

_'Your grandma had a robot butler that looked like me? I'm flattered.'_

"Same glasses, anyway," Jake continues, ignoring the quip. "I don't know whatever happened to it, I think it got destroyed when her factories were bombed. I think I'm going to name this fellow in his honor." 

_'Oh?'_

Jake flips the switch and smiles as the pointy shades light up red. "Hello, Brobot," he says.

Brobot punches him in the face.


End file.
